Edward jolted awake, breath ragged, heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum. Sweat clung to his skin, cold and sharp, and for a moment he couldn’t tell where he was—caught between memory and reality, between the past and the present.

Then he saw it.

Moonlight.

Soft and silver, spilling through the window and painting the room in pale streaks. The shadows retreated just enough to remind him: he was in his bed. In his room. Safe.

But the safety felt hollow.

He sat up slowly, arms wrapping around his automail leg, the cold metal grounding him in the now. His long hair fell forward, loose and tangled, veiling his face like a curtain he didn’t bother to push aside.

“Damnit…” he muttered, voice hoarse.

It had happened again.

The nightmare.

That day.

The circle. The blood. The scream.

It haunted him like a curse etched into his bones. Every night it came back—sometimes in fragments, sometimes in full. And every time, it left him breathless, drowning in guilt he couldn’t wash away.

He stared at the floor, eyes unfocused.

“I wonder… how long this will last…”

No one answered.

The room was silent, save for the soft hum of the night and the distant ticking of a clock. Alphonse was down the hall, unaware. And Edward didn’t want to burden him with the weight he carried alone.

Because this was his sin.

His mistake.

And no matter how many battles he fought, how many truths he uncovered, the scars of that day would never fade.

They were part of him now.

Just like the metal.

Just like the moonlight.